Beats of the Heart

by B. Rose, Charli

  By the time the movie ended, I was a needy mess. The finality and sadness of the last scene didn’t dampen the blaze Dawson had been building for the past couple of hours. His tight hold around my middle didn’t allow me to shift or turn toward him. He was hard against my back, and I couldn’t do anything to get things moving in the direction I was desperate for.

  “So, what did you think about the movie? As good as the book?” he murmured in my ear.

  “You really want to discuss the differences between the book and the movie right now? With your cock trying to press a hole in my back in a blind attempt to get where it belongs? With me practically dripping on this expensively upholstered chair?”

  With one arm still keeping me firmly anchored in place, he snaked his other hand lower, barely brushing where I yearned for him to touch. “Yeah, I want to talk about the movie while it’s fresh in our minds. Speaking of minds, it was kind of nice not being in her head so much. I wondered how all that inner dialogue would translate to the movie.”

  His fingers stroked the fabric covering me infinitesimally harder. “Uh… yeah,” I stuttered.

  “And I was so glad they left out the tampon scene. Not saying it wasn’t hot. But I don’t think it would’ve been hot on screen.” He nuzzled the soft spot behind my ear. “Izzy, did you think the movie was hot?”

  Dawson’s touch became quicker. Harder. “Mmhmm,” I moaned and tried to wiggle into his caress, but his firm hold didn’t allow it.

  He pressed hot, sucking kisses to my neck. His ministrations continued below my waist. “I thought it was hot. Watching it with your body against mine. Remembering reading some of the scenes out loud with each other during our video chats. Running my fingers and lips over your skin while you stared at the screen. Bringing you pleasure, only pleasure, never pain. It was all hot as hell. Now… don’t come.” He tweaked my nub gently through my drenched panties before removing his hands from my body. “Yet.” Gripping my chin, he turned my face more fully to his, so he could plunder my mouth.

  When we read the elevator scene in the book, we talked about Christian telling her to not give into the pleasure he rained on her body in a crowded elevator. And how the command to not to come was ridiculous. We actually both laughed about it.

  I wasn’t laughing now. Pleasure thundered in my veins, trying to wash over every nerve ending. Demanding I yield. With an effort I didn’t know I possessed, I managed to rein it in. Barely.

  I was breathless when our mouths disconnected. With strong hands, he shifted our bodies to the edge of the seat. He set me on trembling legs and led me up the stairs.

  My weak knees barely carried me to our room. Just before I collapsed on the bed in a “take me now” position, Dawson tugged me back. Sure fingers divested me of the little bit of fabric adorning my body. Then he stripped out of his boxers. Hot hands planted on my hips and turned me to face him fully. “You want to play a little more first?”

  Such a tough decision. More play meant delayed gratification. But I was already an exhibit in delayed gratification. But… past experience told me that it’d be well worth the torturous wait. Swallowing the excitement clogging my throat, I drew in a deep breath. “A little. But I don’t think I can take a lot more,” my voice was breathy.

  “The movie inspired me a little.” Mischief twinkled in his eyes as worry swirled in my guts. Pain was not anywhere on my radar of want. My threshold for it was miniscule. I was all about pleasure. Dawson usually was too.

  “Inspired you how?” I whispered, my voice hoarse.

  “We happen to be in like the sex capital of the world or something. So… I might have picked up a few things in anticipation of your visit. But you have nothing to worry about. I’d never hurt you. The thought of you in pain makes me sick to my stomach. I didn’t buy any floggers or paddles,” he joked.

  “Or clamps?” The thought of metal teeth pinching my sensitive skin terrified me.

  “Or clamps. Trust me?”

  “Always.” I gave him a weak smile.

  “Then get on the bed,” his command was gruff, laced with need.

  I spun toward the bed. He swatted one cheek as he moved to his suitcase.

  “Hey! You said no pain,” I teased.

  “Couldn’t resist. But seriously, no pain. I promise.” He held up his hand in a scout’s honor pose.

  With quick hands, I folded down the blankets. Then I lay back on the soft pillows, anticipation keeping me from sighing in contentment at the comfort of the cloud beneath me. I watched as Dawson withdrew something from his bag, but I couldn’t tell what it was. A small zippered bag dangled from his fingertips as he made his way to where I waited. He sank down on the mattress next to me. The hiss of the zipper was ominous in a room where the only audible sounds were our breaths. Leaning forward, I tried to peek into the dark recesses of the bag.

  “Un-uh. No peeking.” He rifled through it and unearthed a dark blindfold and a length of red ribbon.

  “Is that from Paris?” I asked, recognizing the expanse of silky ribbon I’d wrapped myself in this past Christmas when I visited him on tour.

  Shrugging, he grinned at me. “I thought it might come in handy one day. Can I use it to tie your hands to the bedframe?” He wound it around his fingers while he waited for me to answer.

  Heat flared. The thought of being bound—unable to move, to stop him, to touch him—was scary. But it was incredibly arousing too. I chewed my lower lip as I contemplated my options.

  “If you don’t want to, it’s OK. And if we try it and you don’t like it, just tell me, and I’ll untie you,” he offered. He looked at me bashfully.

  “OK,” I breathed out.

  Dawson drew me to him and kissed me deeply, erasing any lingering fear and anxiety. When our mouths separated, his forehead rested on mine. “You sure you’re OK with this?” He held up his hand with the ribbon intertwined between his fingers.

  “I’m sure,” I whispered.

  He rearranged the pillows before easing me back into their fluffy embrace. Taking one of my hands in his, he brought it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to my palm. Gently, he wrapped my fingers around one of the gilded spindles adorning the headboard of the bed. Deftly he wrapped the scarlet strip of satin around my wrist, anchoring it loosely to the metal. His lips trailed from my wrist, down my forearm, up to my shoulder. Goosebumps rose in the wake of his kisses. With tenderness on his face and in his touch, he grasped my other hand and repeated the process of looping the ribbon lightly around my wrist and the headboard.

  “You good?” he asked as he ran his fingers in between the binding and my skin.

  “Yeah,” I breathed out, tugging gently against the ribbon. “Do I need a safe word?” I was only halfway teasing.

  “Stop works for me.” He winked.

  I swallowed hard and nodded. Soft fingers brushed the strands of hair from my forehead, tucking them behind my ears. He slipped the blindfold over my eyes, casting the room into utter darkness. Panic rose as my sight diminished, until a calming touch traced my cheek.

  “Shh. You’re OK,” Dawson murmured against my lips. Instantly, the worry receded.

  He drew my lower lip between both of his and nibbled. His tongue slipped into my mouth to tangle with mine. My hands flexed and pulled against my bindings with the need to touch him. He pulled back, his mouth barely touching mine. My head lifted, straining to maintain contact with him. When his mouth was free of mine, I couldn’t stop the cry that slipped out over the loss of physical connection. In the dark, all my other senses trained on him. The scent of his spicy, sweet cologne. The soft pants of his breath. The heat of his body hovering over mine. The taste of him still lingering on my lips.

  He dropped kisses along my skin sporadically at random spots. I tried to anticipate where his lips or fingers would land, but there was no rhyme or reason I could decipher to his movements. The shifting of his weight on the mattress further threw off my ability to guess where I’d be touched next. A kiss on my col
larbone. A calloused finger dragged along my ribs. A nibble under the swell of my breast. A light scratch down my inner thigh. A tickle to my knee. A bite to my earlobe. A kiss to the arch of my foot.

  The longer I lay in the dark, bound not only by satin but by desire as well, the more sensitized I became. Each touch twisted me more tightly on the inside. Spots on my body that had never been erogenous zones suddenly were hardwired to my core.

  My heart knocked against my ribcage like a trapped bird trying to fly free. My breath stuttered in and out of my chest as my body climbed the hill of a roller coaster. Being robbed of my sight meant I had no idea how tall the climb was going to be before I crested and zipped down the other side.

  I was dying and flying inside.

  Dawson shifted down on the bed. His touch disappeared from my body. It was an aching loss. I whimpered in impatience. His chuckle sounded somewhere halfway down the mattress. “You still doing OK, flutterby?” his voice was gruff.

  “Yep.” The unaffected tone I was shooting for fell hilariously short. My voice was just as needy as his.

  Strong hands gripped my thighs and pushed them further apart. Finally, he was about to be where I wanted him. Where I needed him.

  The mattress dipped as he got into position. His thumb slid between my folds. The cool metal of his thumb ring created a glorious friction. “You’re drenched, baby.”

  “I know. I need…” I couldn’t finish. I needed so much. One thing, a thousand things. Something. I was almost to the point of shamelessly begging.

  One finger dipped inside. Barely. I writhed in frustration. If my hands were free, I’d direct him to touch me where I needed him. Being at his mercy was a head rush and an exercise in a patience that I’d never possessed when it came to him.

  He gave a tiny twist and stroke. It relieved the ache for an instant. But it wasn’t enough.

  Then it disappeared. The bed shifted again as he moved.

  I couldn’t figure out what he was doing. All my senses strained to decipher the situation, to paint the picture in my mind. Coarse hair tickled the sensitive flesh of my thighs. A finger circled my belly button. Any other time, and the feather light touch would have made me giggle. Not today.

  His hard tip strained against my center. I sucked in a sharp breath as it stroked my sensitive flesh, brushing against my concentrated bundle of nerves. His cock slid lower and eased inside. He gave me a short, teasing stroke. It left me yearning for more. My inner muscles clenched around his fleshy length, trying to draw him in deeper or at least prevent his escape. After a handful of strokes, each one getting infinitesimally longer, he was finally stroking that magic spot inside my body. He was a perfect fit and the perfect angle, like we were created for each other. My knees bent, and my feet scrabbled to give me leverage. My hips needed to thrust up into his movements. To meet him.

  Before I could get my feet flat and stabilized, a gentle flicker brushed my clit. It felt amazing. But different. Not like his normal touches when we made love. I forced myself to concentrate on the difference. The pressure was different, less. The touch was more… dexterous somehow. Heat caressed my damp flesh. Moisture increased. Another full stroke into my body scattered my thoughts.

  I recognized the feeling, the touch… and the strokes. But normally the two weren’t in conjunction with each other. Because it was impossible for Dawson to be buried inside of me and still licking my intimate folds. The realization froze my heart.

  He wouldn’t.

  Fear stole some of my pleasure. We’d never talked about adding anyone to our lovemaking before. I was open-minded about a lot of things. But not that. Never that. I didn’t share well.

  My wrists twisted and turned as I tried to free myself. “Stop,” I choked out as tears spilled from my blind eyes.

  “OK. It’s OK, flutterby.” His weight disappeared from my lower half as he hastily shifted to the head of the bed. Gentle fingers lifted the material from my eyes. Though the light in the room wasn’t bright, I still had to blink a few times against the sudden light. Dawson worked to free my hands while I glanced around the room, looking for another person. But I saw no one.

  He rubbed the irritated skin of my wrists where I’d pulled against the ribbons. Once he was satisfied that my circulation was good, he turned his attention to my tear stained face. “Baby, what’s wrong? Did the ribbon hurt you?” He tugged me into his embrace, pressing my head to his muscled chest.

  “Where is he?” my voice trembled as I asked.

  “He?” Dawson leaned back to look in my eyes. “Who are you talking about, baby?”

  “The other person who was in here. The one who was lic-licking me.” My breathing was erratic, fear still gripping me.

  “Flutterby, there’s nobody here but us. I swear.” His voice was so earnest. I wanted to believe him.

  “But how? You can’t do both those… things at the same time. You’re good, but you’re not that good.”

  “Vibrator.”

  “No way. That felt real. It felt like… you.” I’d tried several toys over the years with Dawson. None felt like real flesh. And the size and angle were his. I just knew it.

  “It’s part of the gift I got for us. Let me show you.” He fumbled for something midway down the bed. Opening his palm, he revealed a hot pink vibrator. I frowned. It couldn’t have been…

  “Go on take it,” he urged.

  Gingerly, I plucked it from his grasp. The weight and texture of it felt real. Dawson shuffled to his feet and moved to his suitcase. I ran a fingertip over the texture of my new toy. The bumps and veins were familiar, in a way a toy shouldn’t be. For years I’d been intimately acquainted with every part of Dawson’s anatomy. The appendage I held in my hand was a really good replica. It was impossible. In disbelief, I leaned back against the pillows.

  Dawson sank down next to me, his hands filled with something else and our phones.

  “How?” astonishment coloring that single word.

  “Told you, sex capital of the world. You’d be surprised what’s available for a price.” He smirked at me.

  “I can imagine. But how did you find a toy so close to you know… you?” Why was I so embarrassed discussing this?

  “I used a mold,” he explained matter-of-factly.

  “What? That’s a thing?”

  “Apparently. Go ahead, compare. I know you want to.” He gestured between his body and the imitation I held in my sweaty palm.

  He knew me so well. Reaching over, I traced a fingertip over his sensitive foreskin. He drew in a sharp intake of breath. The vein ridges were in the same place on the toy. I gave him a few test strokes, making his breath hiss back out. The shape and size of the two were a match. A perfect likeness.

  “Wow.”

  “Being a duplicate isn’t all that is.” Dawson swiped across his phone screen and with a few taps, the object in my hand began to vibrate.

  Startled, I squealed and dropped it. Dawson guffawed at me. With delicate fingers, I picked it up again. “What did you do?”

  “That is a long-distance toy. It’s blue-toothed enabled. So, I can control the vibrations with an app on my phone no matter where I am in the world. It also has a button on it like a normal vibrator, so you can work it too.”

  “You mean that when we’re apart, you can… and I can…” I still couldn’t comprehend the possibility.

  “Yeah. It’s part of a duet,” he informed me.

  “Huh?”

  He opened a box and pulled out a sheath. “This is the part I keep, and you control it with your phone.”

  I took the device from him and rubbed my fingers inside. Subtle bumps and ridges lined it.

  “So, we can use these to play with each other when we’re oceans apart?” How was it possible?

  “That’s the idea.” He winked at me.

  “Definitely something to look forward to when I get back stateside then.” I grinned at him shyly.

  “Happy anniversary, flutterby. I love you,” he de
clared and kissed my mouth quickly.

  “I love you too.”

  He took our new toys from my hands and placed them on the nightstand. “Now, how about we finish what I started a little bit ago?”

  Chapter 6

  Dawson

  ♪“Heaven” by Kane Brown

  After a leisurely morning of enjoying the comforts of a large, non-moving space, it was finally time to board the bus again. But loving on a bus was something Izzy and I had perfected over the years. We had a couple more days before we had to say goodbye again. And we’d spend those days in motion. Literally.

  “You have all your stuff?” I asked as I took one more look around the bedroom.

  “I think so.” She was walking through the room, double checking everywhere. Bending over, she swooped up a stray pencil from the floor and tucked it back into her art pouch.

  Joe had some of the guys stop by yesterday to move Izzy’s flowers and some of our other belongings to the bus. We each only had a suitcase left. I zipped them shut and carried them to the head of the stairs.

  “I’m going to miss this place,” Izzy said, spinning around to take in the room one more time.

  “Why?” I’d had the same thought myself, but I didn’t understand why. Izzy and I had spent time together all over the world. “What makes this place different for you than all the other hotels we’ve stayed?”

  Her brow crinkled as she looked into my face. “I’m not really sure. Just a feeling. I can’t really explain it. It’s just more special somehow. More significant.”

  “I agree. But I don’t understand why either. Just something in my gut or maybe my heart. But I’ll make you a promise. We’ll come back here for our fifth anniversary and any other time you want to come that we can make it work. Deal?”

  “Deal. Maybe we can come for our honeymoon one day.” Her confidence in our future was everything to me. The smile on her face lit my whole world. I hoped my answering one did the same for her.

  “Come on. Time to roll out.” I hoisted up our suitcases and led the way down the stairs. As we reached the bottom, a knock vibrated the door.